


Not like that (if that means anything)

by dagonst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Decisions, Bad Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Past Brainwashing, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagonst/pseuds/dagonst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky knows where he wants things to go with Steve, but doesn't know where to start.  Cue angst mixed with smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not like that (if that means anything)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: story contains minimal plot, one triggered brainwashed assassin, and brief descriptions of sexual violence.

Steve Rogers bends over his shoulder out of nowhere, leaning on the couch to look at the footage of Natalia Romanov lying to the American Congress. He forces himself to remain in a relaxed posture: _I know him_. The other truth about Steve Rogers follows without prompting: _I want him_. “I like redheads,” he offers up for an excuse.

“You shot her, Buck. Twice. Don’t get your hopes up.” It’s the kind of joke that’s a warning. He closes the video, lets his attention turn to Steve. 

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had been sexual partners but ‘not like that.’ From Steve’s tone and subsequent behavior, _not like that_ means that no further sexual interaction is expected. Perhaps not wanted. Likely, Steve has other reasons for wanting to know the nature of his interest in Romanova. “You know her. How well?”

“Just friends, Buck,” Steve says. 

He twists back to look at Steve’s face. “Like you and I were,” he guesses. Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov. Perhaps that is the pattern. Not like _that,_ only a way Steve Rogers secures his alliances.

“A lot less close than that. You’re my best friend, Bucky.” Steve sets his jaw, anticipating another fight. He shot Steve three times. But he couldn’t do it again, and he can’t win the argument about _Steve Rogers’ best friend_ either. He looks away, down to the blank screen. “Is that’s what’s eating you, that I’ve worked with Natasha?”

‘Have worked’, not ‘did work’. Steve’s hand, warm on his back. He has seconds to respond appropriately. Explain his interest in the Black Widow. Explain himself. “I don’t want to get this wrong. You and me.” He looks up, meets Steve’s eyes. “I need to buy you dinner first?”

Steve does nothing at all for a second. Then he blinks, and then he grins. “Nope. We weren’t ever like that.” 

“But like this.” He catches Steve at the back of the neck. His right arm, the left still hanging loose over the couch. “Like this?”

“Yeah, just like that,” Steve says, like he’s already out of breath. And then they’re kissing.

It’s perfect. 

It’s wrong. 

He shoves Steve away before striking out, and as soon as he feels the impact he runs. He doesn’t hear Steve hit the floor, and doesn’t trust himself to stay and make sure. Locked door, barricade, and him in the farthest corner. 

Outside: running water. Ice. Radio. December 2014, America. Captain Steve Rogers. He kissed Steve. He hurt Steve. New protocol: two hours to get his head straight. One hour. Thirty minutes. He waits.

“Can I come in?” Steve, at two hours and one minute. 

“Where I can see you,” he says, automatic, before thinking he shouldn’t get to see Steve. He hasn’t sorted out what set him off. Steve pushes his way in anyway. “Shit, Steve, your face.”

Steve settles himself against the opposite wall, hands on his knees. “I heal fast. Are you okay?”

Bucky makes a face. “Don’t know what the hell happened.”

“I kissed you, that’s what. Won’t happen again. There are other things we could try, but only if you want.” It sounds simple, the way Steve says it. Brisk. Nothing personal. 

“It’s not safe,” he says, meaning: Steve isn’t safe. “They put it in my head that you’d try to turn me. Distract me from the mission. That you’d lie.” There’s no mission now, no Hydra, and Steve distracts him all the damn time. “You lied. Did you?”

Steve starts to deny it, then stops and looks - looks guilty as hell, is what. Steve lied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t - but - Bucky, we never kissed, back then. I didn’t think.”

“ _That’s_ what ‘not like that’ means? No kissing?” He doesn’t remember not-kissing, but who the hell would. Bucky lets his head fall back against the wall. “Fuck. What a pair of fucking morons, you and _James Buchanan Barnes_.” 

“You said to save kissing for my girl. Just how it was, Buck.” Steve smiles, wry. “Sorry about that mission I interrupted.”

He doesn’t feel like smiling, but it was his own stupid rule that got them here. So he pulls his lips back before answering, “Fuck you, Rogers.”

“You didn’t even want to kiss me,” Steve shoots back. 

“What if I don’t want to kiss you?” he says. It comes out sharper than he meant, and he knows he’s lost the smile. “Maybe I just want to bend you over the bed and fuck you.”

Steve’s eyes flick sideways to the bed, before coming back to him. The bed, not the door, the part of him that isn’t running his mouth notes.

“Not going to tell me how we don’t do that in America? Maybe I should’ve.” Easy enough to say how it would go. “I’d have got you down on that bed and - I don’t have anything here that’d keep you where I want you. That headboard, you’d splinter it like it was nothing.” He could use a knife - anyone would keep still with a knife at their throat. But not Steve Rogers.

“Say I let you,” Steve suggests. “What then?”

Then there’s nothing. Opponent subdued, mission complete. Wait for orders, that’s next. But not right, not anymore. “Hell of a place to stop, Buck,” Steve says, warm. He shuts his eyes. Steve. On the bed. Facedown against the mattress. Wrong place to stop, alright. 

“It’s - it’s easier if you cooperate.” Steve nods, he sees at the edge of his vision. “So, I’d. I’d get you up off the bed just enough to slide my hand around your cock. Right hand,” he clarifies, before Steve can say something. 

The words come slow, it’s been a long time since he had words for anything but mission reports. This is another language, fast and filthy, that he doesn’t remember learning. “Not enough to give you leverage. My hand on your cock. Mine inside you.” How would Steve react? He can’t remember. “I would - would finish you first,” he decides. “Then, I think I would not need the knife.” 

A mistake, the knife, but Rogers only nods when he looks up. “You’ve got my attention.”

“I could hold your hips steady, then. Both hands. I’ll finish inside you, Steve, fill you up. You’re tight enough I’m not gonna last long. A few thrusts, that’s all. The bed’s a mess, so’re you.” That, he can imagine clear enough. How there will be spunk on Steve’s stomach, the bed. His, between Steve’s legs. 

“But you recover fast, I figure. Maybe you’d need me to roll you over and bring you off again. Get you clean. You ever taste yourself, Steve? I could suck you clean, see if I could get you all down. Take you all the way, until you’re trying to fuck up into my mouth. I’d have to hold you down so you’d let me do the work. My mouth, one hand. Swallow you down and then - then I’ll kiss you, Steve.”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth, James Buchanan Barnes.” He can’t place the emotion, but Steve’s not concentrating on keeping calm anymore. That’s a victory of sorts. 

“And you sat there drinking it up like a bedtime story.” 

“Want to tell me another one?” Steve suggests. He spreads his knees some, unbuckles his belt. Eyes on him the whole time.

And if he can’t meet Steve’s eyes, he can’t _not_ look at how Steve’s tenting his pants. Can’t not wonder how his super-strength works, there. How it would feel - He swallows. “You want another story? About how the thought of getting thrown down on the bed and fucked got you that hard, you can’t keep your legs closed? Worried I’ll see you with your hand down your pants?” Steve isn’t. Bucky wets his lips. 

“Way you’re fingering yourself won’t do anything but make you want more, Steve. Zipper. Pull it out before you break something.” And, there: Steve Rogers following orders for maybe the first time in his life. He ought to take a picture. 

"You gonna do anything but look, Bucky?"

He could do just that - watch Steve with his voice already going shaky. Watch Steve go to pieces in front of him. He could do that, and barely register the discomfort. 

His metal fingers click against his belt buckle and he freezes. He’d never be so clumsy with a weapon, a mission. Steve, waiting, gives him half a grin that makes him go on, fumble through the rest. It’s too much, too fast. But _hell_ if he’s falling behind. Not this time, not again - “Bucky,” Steve says.

And nothing else until he - not comes to attention, because he’s got his legs apart, his cock in his one good hand - but until he stops again, focuses back on Steve.

The smear of bruise on Steve’s cheek. One hand braced on the floor - Steve could get up fast if he needed to - but the other wrapped around his cock, holding it loose. He remembers, suddenly, opening his mouth wider for it, wrapping his own hand around the base, looking up at Steve. It had been a game, to keep quiet, and he had lost and hadn’t much cared - 

And the test now is - what - to see how long he will wait, exposed like this? Seeing Steve, like that? He has learned patience, but he will always break before Steve Rogers.

He starts again, stroking himself, slow and deliberate. Keeps the edge of pain, because that’s how he’ll know this was real, later. If he is punished - but Steve grins. Smug, like he’s won an argument. “You want me to come over and give you a hand?” He flips Steve off, and Steve laughs. 

He speeds up, now, not to keep up but because there’s not enough, with Steve smiling like that and - the climax surprises him. He shudders through it, cursing. Sees Steve letting himself go with a groan. 

And then — maybe they’re still for a minute, but it doesn’t feel like it. Then Steve’s halfway across the room, ignoring all the protocols, and he doesn’t know how he gets to his feet, doesn’t know how he stays standing until Steve gets there, all warm and too close, and not close enough. He tangles the metal hand into Steve’s hair, and kisses him like it means something.


End file.
